Nurse

Mistress! Hello, mistress! I bet she’s fast asleep. Juliet! Hello my lamb! My lady! Darn it, you sleepyhead! Love! Madam! Sweetheart! Why don’t you answer, bride! Not even one word? Well get your rest now, sleep for a week. I bet you that the next night you won’t get much sleep with Count Paris. God forgive me, she’s sound asleep! I have to wake her up. Madam, madam, madam! Oh, let the count take you in your bed, I’m sure he’ll wake you up. Will you not wake up?

The County Paris hath set up his rest,

That you shall rest but little. God forgive me,

Marry, and amen! — How sound is she asleep!

I must needs wake her. — Madam, madam, madam!

Ay, let the County take you in your bed;

He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?

[Draws back the bed curtains]

What, dressed and in your clothes, and down again?

I must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady! —

Alas, alas! Help, help! My lady's dead!

O, weraday, that ever I was born!

(Nurse)

[Undraws the curtains] What, you got dressed and all your clothes are ready and you fell back to sleep again! I’ve got to wake you up. Lady! Lady! Lady! Oh no! Help, help! My lady’s dead! Oh curse the day that I was born! Someone get me a strong drink! My Lord! My Lady!

Capulet

Nurse

Lady Capulet

Capulet

Ha! Let me see her. Out, alas! She's cold.

Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff.

Life and these lips have long been separated.

Death lies on her like an untimely frost

Capulet

What? Let me see her. Oh, alas! She’s cold, her blood has settled, and her joints are stiff. I can tell from her face she’s been dead for hours. This death is like an unexpected frost on the sweetest flower in all of the field.

Nurse

Oh what a terrible day!

Lady Capulet

Oh what a tragic time!

Capulet

This death, that’s taken her away to make me weep in grief, has stopped me from speaking.

Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

Nurse

O lamentable day!

Lady Capulet

O woeful time!

Capulet

Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,

Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak.

[Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with Musicians]

Friar Laurence

Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

Capulet

Ready to go, but never to return.

O son, the night before thy wedding-day

Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies,

Friar Laurence

Come now, is the bride ready to go to church?

Capulet

Ready to go to the church, but she will never return. Oh my son! The night before your wedding day Death has slept in your wife’s bed. There she lies, a beautiful flower deflowered by death. It is only death that I can have for a son-in-law, death will be my heir. It’s as though my daughter is married to death, and now when I die only death will inherit everything I have. All I have belongs to Death.

Paris

Oh, I’ve anticipated seeing this morning for so long, how can it show me such an awful sight?

Flower as she was, deflowered by him.

Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir;

My daughter he hath wedded. I will die

And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death's.

Paris

Have I thought long to see this morning's face,

And doth it give me such a sight as this?

Lady Capulet

Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!

Most miserable hour that e'er time saw

In lasting labor of his pilgrimage!

Personification

"In lasting labor"

[Click to see note.]

Personification

"In lasting labor"

Time is personified here. Time's job, or time's labor, is to march relentlessly on—to pilgrimage. Upon learning of Juliet's death, lady Capulet believes that this is the worst moment time has ever seen in all its marching.

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,

But one thing to rejoice and solace in,

Lady Capulet

Accursed, sorrowful, wretched, hateful day! This is the most miserable hour time himself has ever seen in his eternal journey! I had only one, poor one! One poor, loving child, only one thing to rejoice in and find solace in, and cruel death has taken her from my sight!

Nurse

Oh woe! Oh terrible, terrible, terrible day! This is the saddest, most terrible day that I’ve ever seen! Oh day! What a day, what a day! What a hateful day! There was never another day as dark as this one! Oh woeful day, oh woeful day!

Capulet

I’ve been spited, distressed, nearly martyred and killed by this death! Terrible time, why did you have to come now and ruin this solemn ceremony? Oh child, oh child! You were my soul, more than my child! You’re dead! Alas! My child is dead, and with her all my happiness is buried.

Despised, distressed, hated, martyred, killed!

Uncomfortable Time, why camest thou now

To murder, murder our solemnity?

O child! O child! My soul, and not my child!

Wordplay

"my soul"

[Click to see note.]

Wordplay

"my soul"

Juliet was everything to Capulet; she was his soul. She was also his only—sole—child. She is no longer his child, as she is no longer.

Dead art thou! Alack! My child is dead;

And with my child my joys are buried.

Friar Laurence

Peace, ho, for shame! Confusion's cure lives not

In these confusions. Heaven and yourself

Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all,

And all the better is it for the maid.

Your part in her you could not keep from death,

Friar Laurence

Quiet, everyone, for shame! The best course of action in this devastation won’t be found in this kind of uproar. You shared this lovely girl with Heaven, and now Heaven has her entirely, which is all the better for the girl. You could not keep Juliet’s body from death, but Heaven will keep her soul alive forever. You always sought to give her a better life, for your own heaven was the idea of her moving up in life. Are you going to weep now that she has moved up all the way to the clouds in Heaven? Showing the kind of love you are, it seems like you love your child poorly, going mad when she is in the best state possible.

But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.

The most you sought was her promotion,

For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced;

Performance

Lines 65-83

[Click to launch video.]

And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced

Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?

O, in this love, you love your child so ill

That you run mad, seeing that she is well.

Wordplay

"ill" and "well"

[Click to see note.]

Wordplay

"ill" and "well"

The Capulets' love for Juliet is "ill", or wrongly based, since they are mad with grief, even though Juliet is "well" because she's in heaven.

She's not well married that lives married long;

But she's best married that dies married young.

Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary

On this fair corpse; and, as the custom is,

Allusion

"rosemary on this fair corpse"

[Click to see note.]

Allusion

"rosemary on this fair corpse"

The rosemary plant was a symbol of remembrance, often placed with the body in a funeral and distributed to the mourners in attendance.

In all her best array bear her to church.

For though some nature bids us all lament,

(Friar Laurence)

It’s best not to be married for too long, so it’s better to be married and die young. Dry your tears, and give some rosemary to this lovely corpse. Dress her in her finest clothes and carry her to the church according to custom. It’s in our nature to mourn, but our reason laughs at us for our excessive lamenting.

Capulet

All the festive things we prepared must now be repurposed for a solemn funeral. The wedding band must now sound like a funeral bell, the food is converted into a burial feast, and the wedding marches must be changed to heavy dirges. Juliet’s wedding bouquet will lie with her buried corpse, and everything seems to be turned into the opposite of what it was for.

Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

Capulet

All things that we ordained festival,

Turn from their office to black funeral;

Performance

Lines 84-90 (Stunned)

[Click to launch video.]

Our instruments to melancholy bells,

Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,

Performance

Lines 84-90 (Sad)

[Click to launch video.]

Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,

Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corpse,

And all things, change them to the contrary.

Friar Laurence

Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him;

And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare

To follow this fair corpse unto her grave.

The heavens do lour upon you for some ill;

Friar Laurence

Sir, you should go inside, and madam, you go with him. And you too, Sir Paris. Let everyone prepare to bury this lovely young lady. The heavens have frowned upon you for some kind of sin. Take care that you don’t bring down more misfortune by disobeying God’s will.

First Musician

Look, I think we can pack up our instruments and go home.

Nurse

Honest fellow, yes, put them away, put them away. For as you well now we’re in a pitiful case.

First Musician

Peter

First Musician

Peter

Oh, musicians, play it because my own heart is singing about how it’s full of woe. Oh please play some happy song to comfort me.

First Musician

There’s no time to play now.

Why 'Heart's Ease?'

Peter

O musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is

full of woe.' O, play me some merry dump to comfort me.

First Musician

Not a dump, we. 'Tis no time to play now.

Peter

You will not then?

First Musician

No.

Peter

I will then give it you soundly.

Language

"I will then give it you soundly."

[Click to see note.]

Language

"I will then give it you soundly."

Peter's words have a double meaning: "I will attack you thoroughly" or "I will insult you musically."

First Musician

Peter

You won’t do it, then?

First Musician

No.

Peter

Well then I’m going to give to you good.

First Musician

What are you giving us?

Peter

Not money, but a joke on you. I’ll give you the title of minstrel.

First Musician

Then I’ll give you the title of serving-creature.

What will you give us?

Peter

No money, on my faith, but the gleek.

I will give you the minstrel.

First Musician

Then will I give you the serving-creature.

Peter

Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on

your pate. I will carry no crotchets; I'll re you,

I'll fa you. Do you note me?

Wordplay

"carry no crochets"

[Click to see note.]

Wordplay

"carry no crochets"

Here, Peter uses musical puns to tell the musicians that he won't put up with their mischief. A crochet is a musical note. He then uses the names of notes ("re" and "fa") to tell them he'll ruin them if they try anything else. By "Do you note me?" he means, "Do you get me?" The First Musician carries the puns over into his next line.

First Musician

Peter

If you do you may find this serving-creature’s dagger on your head. I will make you sing, re, fa la, all that, you hear me? You got that?

First Musician

If you you’re going to carry on saying re, fa, I suppose you have “noted” us, so to speak.

Second Musician

Please, lower your dagger, and calm down this wit you have that makes you want to argue.

Peter

Oh you don’t like my wittiness, do you? I’ll beat your over the head with my wit, even if I lower my dagger. Answer a question for me:

An you re us and fa us, you note us.

Second Musician

Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

Peter

Then have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up

my iron dagger. Answer me like men.

Language

"iron wit"

[Click to see note.]

Language

"iron wit"

Peter is threatening to thrash the musicians with his strong wit. But an iron wit is a dull and senseless one, so really he is threatening to fight them with his own stupidity.

[sings]

When griping grief the heart doth wound,

Then music with her silver sound' —

why 'silver sound'? Why 'music with her silver

sound'? What say you, Simon Catling?

Musician

Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

Peter

Peter

“Then grief wounds the heart

And the mind is down in the dumps

The music with a silver sound”

Why do they call it a silver sound? Why should music have a silver sound? What do you say, Simon Catling?

Musician

Well, sir, because silver sounds sweet.

Peter

Very clever! What do you say, Hugh Rebeck?

Second Musician

I think it’s “silver sound” because musicians play for silver coins.

Peter

Also clever! What do you say, James Soundpost?

Prates. What say you, Hugh Rebec?

Second Musician

I say 'silver sound' because musicians sound for silver.

Peter

Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?

Third Musician

Faith, I know not what to say.

Peter

O, I cry you mercy, you are the singer. I will say

for you. It is 'music with her silver sound'

because musicians have no gold for sounding.

[sings]

Then music with her silver sound

Third Musician

Honestly, I don’t know what to say.

Peter

Oh, I beg your pardon, you’re the singer. I’ll come up with something for you. It’s “music with her silver sound” because musicians couldn’t make a sound rubbing two gold coins together!